


A Little Bit of Momentum

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Awkward First Times, F/M, Frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Huey and Monica get carried away, in what turns out to be a very nice way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit of Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> they're doing their best.

Huey doesn’t remember making a conscious decision to touch Monica’s chest.

One moment, his hand is on her neck as they kiss, where it belongs; the next thing he knows, Monica is making an unfamiliar whimper against his mouth and he’s yanking his hand back like it’s been burned. Monica’s eyes are wide and her face is flushed as she stares at him, and he finds himself looking away.

“Huey…?”

But looking down at his lap turns out to be even worse, because what he sees there goes a long way towards explaining why his hand started wandering in the first place, why he’s having so much trouble catching his breath, and why he really, really wants to get back to kissing and see where that takes them.

“I think maybe you should go home,” is what he says out loud, glancing sidelong at Monica.

She’s noticed. He can tell because of the deliberate way she’s looking a little over his shoulder, and by the fact that she stumbles a little when she replies, “Oh, um, m-maybe you’re right…”

She gathers what she’s brought home from class—her notes and a book that Huey recommended to her—and Huey realizes that to show her to the door means standing, which is less than ideal. But he’s not crass enough to send her downstairs alone, especially after what his hand just did. So he follows her down the stairs and is glad he didn’t light any of the first-floor lamps when they got here. In the half-light from outside, they linger awkwardly at the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, managing to look her straight in the eyes again.

“Uh-huh,” she answers, gazing back, not reaching for the door. They usually kiss good-night, in situations like this, so he takes her by the waist and presses his lips lightly to hers.

Lightly, for two seconds.

After that, not very lightly at all. And somehow the next thing he’s fully aware of is that he’s got her pressed against the door and the heat in his groin is more insistent than ever and she’s kissing back as desperately as he is. He wants to kiss down her neck and feel her lift her chin to show herself to him. He wants to touch her chest and hear that whimper again.

Experimentally, he moves his lips from her mouth to her jaw; he’s rewarded with a shivery gasp and a tighter grip on the back of his shirt. So he continues, trailing his lips down her throat and feeling her shift exactly as he’d hoped she would. He presses his upper half closer still to her, careful about his groin even though it feels like everything in him is focused there.

“Huey,” Monica breathes, now that her lips are free, “d-do you… want this?”

He hesitates then, lips brushing against her neck. He’s not stupid. He knows what this is a precursor to. He’s read about it, never really on purpose. Until a few weeks ago, he’d never thought it would be relevant to his life. And for the past few weeks—for the past few weeks, he realizes now, he’s been trying not to think about it.

He meets Monica’s eyes and he finds her expression inscrutable; she is searching his eyes as he searches hers, and she’s waiting for his answer. His answer is yes. Yes, he wants this. Some physical instinct within him has lain dormant until now, waiting for a moment like this to surface and take over. He doesn’t know what to do next, but he feels like his body would figure it out if he just gave it the chance.

But he can’t bring himself speak so bluntly out loud and to answer by continuing to touch her would be crass, disgusting. So he responds by turning the question around to her instead: “Do you?”

She bites her lip. In the moonlight filtering in from outside, he sees uncertainty in her face; some it mirrors his own, but there’s something more there, too. Maybe something like fear. For a moment, he has the sense that he should be stepping back to give her space—but then she kisses him again, pulling him close. His hand settles on her waist and perhaps for the first time he is aware that there is skin under her dress, skin that probably smells just as sweet as her neck and hair do, skin that is as soft as her cheeks and her hands.

“Monica—” he says, meeting her eyes once more, “I want—I want you to feel good.”

It’s not the whole truth. What he wants is to make her feel good, to hear her vocalize her approval and know that he’s coaxed that out of her. She adores him, incomprehensibly so, and he feels like he’s always trying to be someone worth loving, and he wants to do this for her.

For a few moment, she only breathes against him; then she gives a nod that’s more eager than shaky. “Let’s go back upstairs,” she murmurs, and he echoes her nod. He pulls her back to his room by the hand.

They falter once the door is closed. Huey holds Monica by the waist, wanting and needing and trying to keep his head, and confesses, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Monica shakes her head and gives a tiny, embarrassed laugh. She doesn’t know either. But when she leans in, she goes for his neck rather than his lips, and he gasps sharply at the sensation. “Can I…?” she whispers, and he doesn’t pause to find out what she wants before nodding his permission. Her hands are undoing the buttons of his vest, then, and it slides off of him easily. Her hands drop to where his shirt is tucked into his waistband and then hesitate. “Huey…” she says, desire obvious in her voice.

“Yeah,” he answers, his own voice rough, and he pulls his shirt over his head.

Monica’s eyes are wide as he lowers his arms once more. “Oh,” she breathes, looking from his face to his bare chest to his groin—the state of which has only gotten more pronounced as they’ve continued—and then back up again. “Oh,” she repeats, and her voice trembles and her hands come up in front of her face and she shakes.

“Monica?” he says, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I—yes. I-I’m fine, I am—”

But she doesn’t sound fine. Huey furrows his brow and touches her hair lightly. She leans into his touch, her eyes slipping closed.

“Should I put my shirt back on?”

She nods, shivering. So he does, and then he guides her to his desk chair and sits down on the bed, a respectable distance away from her, while she draws steady breaths to collect herself.

“I’m sorry if I was pushing you too fast,” he says.

“No!” She looks at him and shakes her head, her blonde hair whipping back and forth. “That wasn’t—Huey, no, you weren’t pushing me at all.”

He’s not sure he believes her; he knows that she’d give him anything he asks and that scares him a little. “I just want you to be happy,” he says. It’s not the same emotion as what he said earlier—it’s less focused, less selfish than wanting her to feel good—but it’s more important.

“Oh, Huey, I am. I just…” She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I… _want_ things that I don’t… don’t even know how to want. And I don’t know if that’s okay.”

Huey nods. “I understand.” He feels the same way.

“You’re just—so, so beautiful, and I want…” She buries her face in her hands again. Huey reaches out and tugs one hand away from her face. She looks at him, a hint of worried tears in her eyes. He tugs on her hand once more, suggesting, and she follows his suggestion and comes to sit next to him, glancing shyly at him from the corner of her eye. A moment later they’re kissing again and it’s incredible, it is, but part of Huey is swearing internally because they need to sort this out—

He breaks the kiss with effort and looks at Monica’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I keep getting carried away.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m…” But her apology trails off as they look at each other, their breaths coming ragged. Huey gives up first. He leans in for another kiss, and Monica answers it eagerly, and whatever it is that they want, it seems that they want it together. Monica leans back in the bed and Huey follows and finds himself prone on top of her and breathless. When they pull back from the kiss, he slides a cautious hand down her throat and over her collarbone, and then he hesitates.

“May I?”

“Please,” she breathes in return, and he trails her fingertips down over her chest deliberately this time. She chokes back a gasp and arches into his hand and oh. Oh, this is what he wants. He cups his hand around one breast and then leans in for another kiss and Monica holds him tight enough to leave him gasping. And at this proximity there’s no way to keep his groin out of things. Every time Monica’s skirts shift against it, he makes a choked noise, almost petrified by how good it feels. But only almost. In reality, his body is moving against hers on its own as they kiss. He doesn’t recognize the sounds coming out of his own mouth and he doesn’t recognize the things he wants, the way he feels—

His release takes him completely by surprise. He cries out and he breaks the kiss, hunched and shaking and trying to catch his breath. For a moment the only thought he can pull out of the haze is _oh my god_. Then Monica shifts under him and his mind clears. Hastily, he tries to pull away and sit up, tries to guess whether she knows what’s just happened and whether he needs to apologize for using her.

But she gasps and holds him a little tighter. “H-Huey…” she whispers, breathless, and her face is flushed. “Stay?”

He feels her shift under him again, watches her breath catch.

“You want this?” he murmurs, daring to hope. She nods. Her eyes are bright and they light a fire in Huey’s chest. He settles down on top of her once more and she wraps her arms around his back, her hips grinding up against his leg. Her expression trembles with each movement, and it takes Huey’s breath away. He kisses her again, just once on the lips before moving down her throat, eliciting a moan. And then his hand is wandering again and this time it doesn’t stop at her chest. He trails his fingertips down her stomach, lower, lower—

“Do you want me to…?” he breathes as his hand nears the spot that she’s been rubbing against him.

“ _Please_ ,” Monica says, almost whimpering, and he cups his hand into the space between her legs. Even touching her through her skirts feels unbelievably intimate as she begins to move against his hand, and he means to say her name but it comes out as a moan. She arches, and her mouth finds his again to exchange desperate kisses. He can feel every shake of her body, every one of her uneven breaths, and so he can tell when she finds release, too: she holds herself taut for a long moment before sinking limply into the bed. She breathes his name and he kisses her more gently than he’s ever kissed her before. She winds one hand into his hair, holds him close. Together, they breathe.

He’s overwhelmed, almost drowsy; so it takes him a moment to realize when Monica’s breath starts catching again. Then he recognizes the sound and his stomach plunges. She’s crying. Shame clenches in Huey’s chest and he tries to pull back to get a good look at her.

“Monica—” His voice trembles with something like panic. “Are you—did I hurt you? Monica, I’m—”

But she pulls him back to her before he can get the whole apology out and he feels her shake her head against his cheek. “Stay,” she says again, her voice shaking. “I’m—it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He’s not sure whether she means to reassure herself or him, but her hand strokes the back of his head even as he feels her tears wet his face. Gingerly, he sits up and guides her into a seated position, too, so that he can hold her better. She clutches him tightly.

“It’s j-just that… that was so amazing, and I l-l-love you so much, and I thought—I thought…” she chokes out.

“Shhh,” he says quietly. She’s forcing herself—he can tell—and there’s still something she isn’t saying. But he doesn’t want her to feel like she has to explain herself. “Was that too much?” he murmurs into her hair.

She shakes her head. “No, Huey, no—”

“What should I do to help you?”

Her arms tighten around him. “Just… this.”

And so he holds her until her shoulders stop trembling, until she sighs out a long breath and gazes into his face. There is uncertainty in her eyes.

“Was that okay?” she asks in a small voice.

Huey feels his cheeks redden and he resists the urge to look away. “It was more than okay,” he assures her. “I didn’t know it was—I’ve never…”

“Yeah,” she agrees. And again, her shoulders relaxing a little: “Yeah.”

But she looks down at her lap, her eyes still pensive. Huey frowns, a little worried. “Monica…”

“I’m fine—” she starts to say, but Huey cuts her off.

“I love you,” he says seriously.

She knows this already; it isn’t new information. And yet saying it has exactly the effect Huey hoped for: she turns a bright pink and a smile spreads over her face, irresistibly. She glances at his face and then down again, shy in her delight, but she lets him embrace her, and then, for a little while, all they need is each other. 


End file.
